Friday, 9:43 a.m.: My name is Bear Grylls. I can start a fire by looking at dry twigs, I've bungee-jumped off the Space Shuttle, and I'm one of only three men to have successfully seen "The Adventures of Pluto Nash" in theaters. I once went 10 rounds with a Florida Skunkape, America's southernmost native Sasquatch, but today, I'm facing the deadliest challenge of my career. I'm going to attempt to survive for three days in Princeton, N.J., with no money, no supplies and dangerously, no status. It's time for me to parachute into town and begin my ordeal.
Friday, 1:19 p.m.: Because I jumped from an NJTransit train, my parachute failed to deploy completely, making it difficult to drag behind me. The wilds of New Jersey have the nation's highest concentration of mouth-breathers and ill-advised facial hair, and if I run into trouble, my support crew in Rahway is over seven hours away by clogged roads or unreliable public transportation. I've improvised a crude resume to score a number of first-round interviews with investment banks and consulting firms; this afternoon, I'll use wilderness BSing skills to talk leverage while covertly filling my pockets with energy-rich appetizers and hors d'oeuvres.
Friday, 10:20 p.m.: While temperatures this weekend are warm with highs in the 70s, a strong chance of thunderstorms tonight means despite a belly full of crab-cake and a job offer from Lehman Brothers, finding shelter is critical. I've fashioned a crude PUID imitation from a Kraft single and used it to gain access to Firestone Library, where I'll bed down tonight in a remote corner of the C-floor using unwanted Nassau Weeklies as insulation. It's crucial that I use my parachute cord to mark my trail. Last year, three freshmen were lost for 17 days while attempting to access Firestone's microfiche archives.
Saturday, 11:02 a.m.: This desolate plain is Butler College: The only signs of life here are 15-year-old skateboarders doing mad stuntz on cracked, empty sidewalks. As Wu Dining Hall has apparently been abandoned, I am free to scavenge for edible foodstuffs. This proves a grueling, nearly impossible task.
Saturday, 4:49 p.m.: Without wolverine pelts to barter, Princeton's abundant boutiques and apothecaries are completely useless. These scented candles won't stop frostbite, nor will aromatherapy provide the crucial calories I need to fight starvation. The cozy cottage lovingly rendered in this Kinkade Gallery painting would make an ideal shelter, but unfortunately, it's oil-on-canvas and costs $2,750.
Sunday, 12:47 a.m.: This is the dance floor at Quadrangle Club. The thumping bass of Europe and Journey is deafening, the crude local beverages are indigestible to my unacclimated stomach, and because of my beard and unkempt appearance, I've been mistakenly identified by freshman girls as a grad student and shunned. Dispirited, I am consuming my PUID for sustenance and catching the first bus to Rahway, a broken man.
Next week on "Man vs. Wild": I'll teach you how to survive on New Haven's streets with just a Nalgene and a blunt shiv.
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